


Tandem

by futureboy



Category: Saturday Night Live, Weekend Update (SNL)
Genre: ASL, Clubbing, Deaf Character, Deaf Culture, Fluff, M/M, Sign Language, rated for innuendo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26666869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futureboy/pseuds/futureboy
Summary: ASL/Deaf!AU. Seth and Amber are the hosts of ‘Tandem’, a signed and spoken TV show for sign language users. One of Amber’s guests is a little… Unconventional.
Relationships: Seth Meyers/Stefon, Seth Meyers/Stefon Zolesky
Comments: 12
Kudos: 66





	Tandem

**Author's Note:**

> _This is a fair use, non-commercial fanwork. I have nothing to do with SNL. Stefon’s character belongs to John Mulaney, his face to Bill Hader, and his fictional hand in marriage to Seth Meyers - who, in this fanwork, is the persona represented in the Weekend Update skits, and not the actual Seth Meyers. No-one in this fic represents their real-life counterpart._  
>  (As ever, none of my works are listed in search engines.)

“We got a guest for a leisure segment tonight,” Amber tells him, “so prepare to get GIFs sent to you via Twitter again, it’s gonna be _awesome_.”

Ah. Something viral… Of course.

A weekend where Seth goes viral isn’t an uncommon thing - there are tons of Hearing people in America who find ASL fascinating. Whether it’s his huge, sweeping gestures, choppy insults, or extreme facial expressions, Seth usually sees a couple of GIFs of himself floating around the internet a few times a week - it’s just an occupational hazard of being an interpreter.

Except he’s not _just_ an interpreter, is he? Seth’s got what might be the greatest job in the world, where he gets to host a stupid little feature show with one of his best friends. It was a pain in the ass getting off the ground, sure, but he and Amber had always known there was a half-hour slot shaped hole in the heart of New York, and that they could fill it with nonsense news and audience rapport. She’s vocal and lovely, Seth’s silent and reactive, and it all works out in paradoxical chaotic harmony.

It’s not without its challenges. They fulfil quite a few demographics between them - Seth is non-verbal, speaking in a snappy East Coast ASL, and is able to take in sound. And though Amber mostly speaks out loud on the show, she’s able to do that because she’s fluent in sign too, so they can keep up a multilingual conversation. Hell, she has a whole segment of her own in Black ASL, he doesn’t even attempt to touch on her talent.

So they close captions and fire one-liners at each other for an hour of airtime a week, and they get a lot of touching messages from people who didn’t think they’d ever see something like the two of them on TV. That feels pretty good.

Tonight is supposed to be business as usual.

“Good evening everyone,” Amber chimes, as the cameras pan in on them and the opening orchestration roars. “I’m Amber Ruffin! And my name sign is--”

 _Expression_. She throws herself into it, presenting from the heart with both hands, and the closed captioning flickers along the bottom of one of the monitors. Amber had insisted on yellow text, so he’d run with the blue. They look surprisingly good together.

“And I’m Seth Meyers,” he spells, punctuating it with his name sign. It’s an ‘N’ and a ‘H’, twisting into each other with the flip of the wrist, for ‘New Hampshire’. (It’s definitely more… professional than some of his other sign names.)

They don’t even have to look at each other to introduce the show - Amber verbally, and Seth manually -

“You’re watching Tandem, New York’s primetime ability feature!”

And their studio audience goes wild. It’s an incredible mixture of whooping and clapping and floor-thumping and polite jazz-hands applause; the perks of a mixed-ability viewership. Some of them are sign applauders, and some have to rely on the noises from their faces, and that’s just the way it is.

They usually start with Amber reminding people to adjust their hearing aids, if they have them, and demonstrating how to do so. Then they move on to something serious, with news that’s relevant to the Deaf community - not just from in the States, but from around the globe. Sometimes it’s legislation. Sometimes it’s a feel-good story that made the headlines. Amber loves playing music videos which are influenced by sign language or Deaf culture, so they do that fairly often, too.

Sometimes they have guests.

The guests are, for the most part, academics, or public figures. Actors, activists, professors and linguists… 

They’re, uh… They’re not whoever _this_ guy is.

Seth knows this interview is going ahead, of course - Amber’s organized it wholly, because she’s really been into the silent disco scene that’s flared up recently. But other than being vaguely aware that this is concerning nightlife of some kind, Seth’s basically in the dark.

Until he isn’t.

“--to talk about the most accessible clubs in the city,” Amber’s saying, because Seth looked away for a second and had to hastily catch up with the prompter. “Please welcome to the show: Stefon, everybody!”

She signs him in, the subtitles crawl across their display, and--

And a human being made entirely from corners sweeps cleanly into frame.

He’s on a chair with wheels and he has a startling level of control over it, too. So-called Stefon has a harshly asymmetrical haircut, streaked with blond and glossy with hairspray. That’s not to mention his dramatically loud Andy Warhol tee, and bedazzled gold and black boots. The loudest thing Seth ever wears on set is his weird sky blue tie with little clouds on - if this man is an interpreter, then Seth’s got _no_ idea how he manages to get anyone to listen to him, because he’s _distractingly_ handsome. The guy could hook a gaze from a mile away. (At least he’s not wearing jewelry. Good _lord_. Sparkles on his hands is the last thing their viewers need.)

Seth’s a little betrayed, actually. He had literally no idea that this… _vivid_ guest was going to be on the show tonight.

But he has to remember his manners - and if he knows anything about show business or keeping up appearances, it’s that you have to have the ability to take what the network can throw at you. “Hey, welcome to Tandem, I’m Seth,” he says automatically, and throws his ‘New Hampshire’ sign into the open.

“--And I’m Amber. It’s so nice to have you here! We’re very excited.”

Stefon preens. “Hiiiiii,” he says, drawing out the greeting. Both of his names are spelled out with delicately sharp gestures: “I’m Stefon. People call me VISION.”

He forms the sign with two hands crossing in the sky, like a director imagining a neon headlining act, like it’s screaming ‘Hollywood’ or ‘Broadway’ with a dirtier edge to it. It’s loud and snappy - it’s garish, and it’s _perfect_. If people had noises for names, Stefon’s would be a daring towel snap in a locker room full of models.

Seth sits up a little straighter.

“So, Stefon,” Amber’s saying. “You’re the City Correspondent for a number of underground publications. We caught word that you know all the most exciting, up-to-date places to head out to and have a good time. Do you have any recommendations for Tandem viewers who may not have been clubbing in a Deaf-friendly venue before, and who want to find their place in the nightlife scene?”

“Yesyesyesyesyes,” he signs rapidly. “If you want to see yourself in others, I have just the place for you. New York’s Hottest Club is **Doppelganger**!”

It’s a ridiculously complex sign, with single-handed and double-handed gestures, with facial expressions ranging from scrunched-up squinting to raised eyebrows and a wide smile. Stefon has horrible ASL etiquette for an audience, but one scan of the studio reveals to Seth that everyone is glued to their seats, staring at Stefon with rapt curiosity and delight. This man has bust into their show for a four-minute interview, wielding the weirdest fucking manner of speaking Seth’s ever seen.

He’s enamored.

Like… _instantly_.

What the _fuck_.

He watches as Stefon covers his mouth - oh, god, it’s such bad manners, he wants to put his face in his hands _so badly_ , but he can’t look away - and the man redeploys his hands towards a distribution of nonsense. “If you’ve ever seen Hearing people having that music argument,” Stefon explains, “where one of them goes, _you only like him because of his looks, he’s not even a good singer!_ , and you agreed with that part, then you’re in the right place.”

Seth shoots a look into the lens which he hopes says, _“what?”_

“Well, what else am I going to agree on? The bassline?” Stefon points out. “This place has _everything_. Pyrotechnics. Pyromaniacs. ‘Deadmau45ʼ, the acid house President… _Fancy_ earplugs. And for one night only, jazz fusion carjacker band, Stealy Van!”

“Stealy Van,” Seth signs flatly.

There’s a rumble of vibrating applause, and Stefon bobs his head devilishly.

“So let me get this straight,” Amber says, patient as can be, “the featured guests are impersonators of musical icons who, uh… Don’t sing?”

“Correct,” Stefon says casually. “Because how would we _tell?_ Who cares about that part? We _are_ all about the looks - and, _occasionally_ , the texture. These guys know how to rev _my_ engine.”

(Amber recoils, but in a way that suggests she’s still intrigued.)

For the first time in a long time, his hands go all fluttery _on air_. What a horrifying reaction. “I don’t know if that’s really what our viewers are looking for,” Seth says, trying not to be too awkward. “It doesn’t really… _fit_ our audience. Do you have anything with a little more… structure? A place where Deaf people can dance the night away?” 

“Oooh, _yes_ ,” Stefon says. His fingers wiggle with anticipation. “If you’re into fitness - or maybe you’re just really into jockstraps - I have just the place for you.”

He searches deep into the audience like a seafarer, frowning furiously, and spells: 

“… **K-E-V-I-N?** ”

Amber snorts. There are several loud cackles from the audience. (Stefon doesn’t notice.)

“Located in a Footlocker that only sells cop shoes, this Long Island lodestone is just the tip of the iceberg. And it has everything!” he grins. “Lactose. Fructose. _Overcast_ D. And this Saturday night--” Oh, god, how does he manage to make ‘Saturday’ look so _lewd_ , Amber is definitely going to land them in trouble with this guy-- “they have a special something.”

“Oh?” says Amber. She’s smiling from behind her steady signs; the audience are not quite so reserved about their glee. “What’s the ‘something’?”

“It’s a room where third base coaches from the Deaf Baseball League of America try to converse with each other in coded baseball signs,” Stefon says proudly. “A double steal? A hit and run? We just don’t know!”

Seth tries not to bite the eraser off the end of his pencil. “It could,” he tries, straining his hands and eyebrows in an attempt to be diplomatic, “it _could_ be good for sports fans?”

“It could!” Amber agrees, “but we were thinking something more _classic_ , Stefon.”

He can work with that. “Yeah, classic! Just an old-fashioned club outing,” he says. “With a dance floor, and gimmicks, maybe a bar - someplace people can turn down their hearing aids, if they have them, and get a little adventurous.”

Seth regrets that last part as soon as he says it. Stefon’s handsome blue eyes light up _immediately_.

Oh, no.

“If you’re an adrenaline junkie - or just plain hate Alexander Graham Bell - look no further. New York’s Hottest Club is--”

In a violently nauseating code-switch, Stefon signs, in a Philly accent:

_“ **Conduisez-Moi à l’Hôpital!** ”_

He’s used to ‘hospital’ being signed against the upper arm, but Stefon does a complex wave against his head - not to mention he holds his hands less stiffly than a New Yorker, fluid like a Pennsylvanian signer would. It’s astonishing.

He shares a _‘what the fuck is_ _this_ _shit?’_ look with Amber, and sees the audience ripple with amused motion all over again.

Nevertheless, Stefon catches his breath and continues. “This place has everything: silverware, ten-storey fireman’s poles, those kids you went to school with who ate paper in Chem class or grass in Gym… Horseradish, by the gallon! _The hand from The Addams Family._ So come on down - that password is ‘shilly shally’,” he says, pulling his wrists to and fro, “and this Wednesday, they’re reviving their sensory touch chamber!”

“A touch chamber?” says Amber. “You mean, like, one of those boxes where you have to guess what’s inside?”

“Oh, you know of it!” Stefon says, perking up. “You _can_ bring gloves, but I personally think it feels better raw--”

“Okay, _woah_ , okay,” says Seth. He frantically waves his hands around to dispel _that_ train of thought. In front of him, the audience is flapping with horrified hysteria; behind him, Amber is unhelpfully losing her shit. (Thanks for nothin’, Ruffin.)

“You don’t like it?” Stefon says, taken aback with surprise. “You can come! Let’s get to know each other. I’ll show you around, New Hampshire, I promise you’ll like it.”

“I’m not sure I will,” he says dubiously.

“You will by the end of the night, anyway--”

“Ah, well, see, that sounds like a threat,” Seth points out, “that’s more of a threat than a promise.”

There’s scattered thumps of laughter from the studio audience, and Stefon preens. “Amber’s with me!” he beams. Amber, because she is a devious little traitor, scooches her own chair closer to Stefon in a show of solidarity. (Mutiny!) “Aren’t you, Amber? Picture that - Expression and Vision, hitting up the Big Apple together! We’re gonna--”

“Okay,” Seth says flatly. “Okay, you win, I’ll come and see your clubs. I’m not having you ruin my cohost without me.”

He throws his hands high in celebration: “YAY, Stefon!”

“Stefon, everybody! Thank you so much!” Amber says, gesturing with all the appropriate gratitude for their guest - except when they cut for commercial, leaving space to ready the next segment, she throws Seth a raised eyebrow that he most decidedly does _not_ like.

Waiting to finish taping is agony.

He hopes Stefon is gonna stick around ‘til the end.

It won’t be a shock if he doesn’t, of course; the man clearly has an eventful schedule. But Seth’s torn, because everything in him is saying that striking up a friendship would be a disaster of gargantuan proportions. And yet the streak of jealousy that went through him at the thought of being left out from a club tour _sickens_ him. He _does_ wanna get to know Stefon. He _does_ wanna like Stefon’s weird French club.

And Amber _knows_ it.

“He’s waiting backstage,” she tells him verbally, before he can get a manual word in edgeways. The floor is still rattling from the applause that carried their show out. “For the love of god, go and _talk_ to him, I could have played a guitar solo on the tension between you.”

Seth doesn’t sign anything back, but he does shoot her a scowl that he hopes translates as _I hate you and thank you._

“Yeah, whatever, I’ll be with the producer if you need me,” she grins. “See you later, Casanova.”

He’s glad she said it out loud, because he doesn’t want to get stuck with _that_ as a name sign, in all the sarcastic glory it would carry. Instead, Seth throws her a wonderfully crude and universal hand gesture, before heading into the backstage chaos to find the only person who’d ever made him have heart palpitations on set.

Fuck. There he is, talking to the woman who operates Amber’s boom mic. This is _stupid_. That horrible white tee is glowing hot-blue under the UV lights behind the set, and he stands out a mile, even when he’s not doing anything. 

“So where did you go to college?”

“Gallaudet University, Delta Sigma Phi…”

“Aw, my brother went there! Maybe you know him--”

Seth doesn’t know what to say. Lucky for him, he doesn’t have to say anything; he’s got a feeling that all he’ll have to do is get Stefon’s attention, and then the conversation will carry itself, like some kind of anesthetized, rambling, half-conscious dialogue.

So he taps on Stefon’s shoulder.

“Nice shirt,” he signs, and Stefon lights up, his discussion with the boom mic operator forgotten instantly. “I love that album.”

The operator waves genially and takes off. Okay. Deep breath. He can do this.

Stefon bites back a smile. “Oh, thank you, Seth Meyers!” he says. “I love… bananas.” 

Seth hears Amber snort-laugh from the other side of the room.

Stefon does not, for obvious reasons. ”I’m kidding,” he says, and interrupts himself to smooth down his fringe. “Well, I’m _not_ , but I like the Velvet Underground, and this is also the plainest shirt I own. So…”

“Yeah. I didn’t think you were an interpreter,” Seth jokes.

Stefon slumps his shoulders dramatically. “Oh my _goooood_ , the dress rules are so _restrictive_! And not in a good way! It’s like you people have never enjoyed visual noise before, it’s so _easy_ to get used to.”

Seth tries not to huff with laughter too much, but he can’t help the way his eyes crinkle up. Stefon’s already in Andy Warhol and bedazzled boots; he wonders what he wears when he doesn’t have to be anywhere.

“So is it a parent or a sibling?” 

Seth jumps. “Excuse me?” 

“Who’s Deaf,” he elaborates. “Like, usually the interpreters I’ve met are CODAs and stuff, y’know? You can hear Amber, like, the whole point of your show is a range of Deaf ability, so I figured…”

“Oh,” says Seth blankly. “No, no-one in my family is Deaf. I mean, my Nana was, but she’d just insist we spoke up.”

“Oh,” Stefon mirrors, just as taken aback. “Well… You don’t have cochlear implants.”

“No.”

“And no Deaf family…” he ponders, differentiating with a capital ‘D’. “Deaf friends, maybe? Growing up with a Deaf neighbor nearby?” 

“Uh-uhh.”

“And you speak English.”

“I _know_ English,” Seth corrects. 

Stefon’s getting close, but it looks like he can’t think of anything else that would explain it. “Huh!” he squints. “I’m… I’m all out, New Hampshire. How does a guy with a hundred percent hearing get into Deaf culture?” 

Now there’s a lot Seth could say here - his fucked up larynx, his multilingual mom, a Deaf education and a lifetime of hating the whiteboard in his bag at all freaking times. But what he says _instead_ of all of this is:

“--By buying him dinner?” 

Because apparently, he’s a grade-A moron who thinks solely with his _other_ head.

Stefon laughs with such a force of surprise that he doubles over, sliding his hands down his skinny jeans in a half-assed attempt to remain upright. Seth watches it all unfold with sheer delight and a nervous heart. 

“Too much?” he asks sheepishly.

“Not even close to it. Oh, wow, call me ‘Deaf Culture’ _forever_ ,” Stefon gushes, twisting his whole body with the flattery. He furiously fans at his face, flushed and pleased; he apparently can’t stop signing the word ‘cute’ with his dominant hand. 

“No voice,” Seth explains finally, grinning his way through it. “I was wondering if you’d get there.”

“Non-verbal, of _course_ ,” says Stefon, doing something clickety with his tongue. “Why didn’t I think of that?!” 

He hesitates - sometimes this is an issue. Tandem’s had its fair share of hate mail for using speech and sign in… well, in _tandem_ , that’s kind of the damn point, but folk are sometimes justifiably protective, and liable to bid _adieu_ to a professional relationship with Seth.

“Is it a problem?” he asks.

“Hm? No, certainly not,” Stefon says, appalled. “I’ve got ten percent in my left, that doesn’t make me Hearing with a capital ‘H’.”

“Okay, cool,” say Seth. The relief barrels into him harder than he thought it would, because _damn_ , turns out he really wanted this guy to like him. “‘Cos, like, I went to Deaf schools, y’know? And I’m a qualified interpreter. And basically all my friends are Deaf-- and my whole family learned ASL, my mom teaches languages so ASL wasn’t a--” 

“Seth Meyers,” says Stefon, his eyes twinkling as he wields the name, “relax! You _need_ sign language. You have this big fancy job. People trust you… You’re just as Deaf as me.”

Okay.

Cool.

God, that relief is so sweet.

“Probably have to wear earplugs in one of your clubs, though,” Seth admits.

Stefon thinks it over. “Yes, probably,” he agrees, “but then, people usually give up on having a conversation a couple hours in, and that doesn’t sound like a good way to get to know a handsome TV show host.”

Seth tries not to giggle with embarrassment. “Maybe not,” he grins, swallowing down on the anxious sharpness in his throat. “Do you think a restaurant would be better? Or is that still too distracting…?”

“Stefon isn’t allowed in some restaurants,” Stefon confesses. He speaks as though he’s standing next to himself, which is… Odd. “He’s also allergic to peanuts. But yesyesyesyes, I imagine it _would_ be better.”

Seth nods. His smile is slipping with nerves. “Then let’s do that,” he decides.

“You’re… You’re asking me?” Stefon says.

“Well… Yeah.”

It looks like Stefon’s still trying to put the pieces together. “You’re asking me _why?”_ he says, squinting, as though he can’t think of a reason.

Seth can think of several reasons, but although most of the crew are dispersing around them, he’s very aware that he’s still in a public, visible space. “Because you looked at a person who looks like _me,_ ” he says eventually, gesturing to all of his suit-clad self, “and you still decided to invite me along. Several times, might I add. You were insistent.”

Stefon slips into a snippier NYC accent with sheer excitement. “I didn’t think you’d say _yes_!” he beams. “You looked like you could use some loosening up. And that maybe you’d like the Deaf Baseball League of America feature at **...K-E-V-I-N?** ”

That had actually been the thing Seth had been most curious about. Huh. “A ‘yes’ is definitely in the cards, if the offer still stands,” he says, watching as Stefon smiles as wide as Seth is, mirroring one another with something flirty and exciting. “I know I made that joke earlier about Deaf Culture, but just to warn you… I’m not actually the kinda guy who gets loose on the first date.”

“You will be,” Stefon smirks. Oh, boy. Seth’s about to raise his hands to interject, but Stefon continues: “Honestly and seriously, though… You’re exactly my type,” he admits, “with the whole ‘keeping-up-appearances’ thing you have going, and you kept trying to find middle ground and it was cute, and-- and that tie is _horrible_ , Seth Meyers. I want to get it off you as soon as possible.”

Seth can’t help bursting out laughing, and when he looks up, Stefon’s gazing at his reaction through his eyelashes.

He really is _very_ weirdly good-looking.

“So… If I give you my number,” Seth tells him, a helium hope filling his heart up, “then do you wanna do something next Friday? We could go out somewhere. Have a _real_ conversation. I won’t even wear the cloud tie.”

There’s a good three seconds where Stefon stares at the way Seth’s thumbs trail off.

Then his face splits open into a grin.

“It’s a date,” Stefon confirms, and Seth’s heart jumps, already thinking about even worse ties he could wear on the air to piss Stefon off if they’re gonna start texting each other. He’ll have to be discreetly unfashionable and boring, but he thinks he can pull it off.

This train of thought is abruptly interrupted; with no time to react accordingly, Stefon leans forward to kiss him on the cheek.

Ah.

It lasts less than a second, but Seth’s gonna be replaying the memory of it for the whole week; Stefon’s hand curling around his shoulder, his nose bumping the curve of Seth’s cheekbone, Stefon’s affectionate kiss in the well of a dimple, even though any smile is quickly wiped from Seth’s face entirely.

When he draws back, it’s not quite by enough distance - Stefon lingers, too close, when Seth turns to face him. He’s close enough to easily kiss on the mouth.

Seth can’t _breathe_.

He can’t help himself - he glances down at Stefon’s parted lips, just for a second, before catching himself in the act.

Stefon doesn’t move. He holds his gaze.

In a small, frenetic motion - mostly because it’s the only thing he can do without the space to use any ASL - Seth nods. He’s not sure whether it’s in agreement to the date, or the potential kiss that hangs in the air between them right now. It’s possible it’s an agreement to both.

So it’s a shock to the system when Stefon walks away. Like snow down his collar. Like a promise for Friday.

“See you then, New Hampshire,” Stefon says, and exits the set.

Leaving Seth by himself.

It takes a few moments to collect himself, but the rise of blood in his face feels like the greatest, most victorious relief in the world. He may have promised to go to one of Stefon’s clubs, but this bizarrely eccentric signer also said he’d go to a _restaurant_ with him.

“Hey, man, you alright?”

It’s one of Tandem’s makeup artists - she’s signing at him with some level of concern, which, honestly, is completely warranted given that Seth’s been frozen in place with a dopey flush over his face.

“He hates my tie,” he explains to her gleefully.

She seems amused, but doesn’t press any further.

Seth giggles to himself stupidly for the whole journey home that night. He can’t wait to be inundated with GIFs from tonight’s episode - maybe he’ll even reply to a few of them. Who knows?

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr [@futureboy-ao3!](https://futureboy-ao3.tumblr.com/ask/)
> 
> Stay safe, wash your hands, wear a mask, I love you ♥


End file.
